the bank of the boots in the sooty, having plenxty off time on rawmeots and juliannes with their old pantometer, in duckasaloppics, Luke and Johnny MacDougall and all at ones, be these same tokens, for- giving a brass rap, sneither a whole side of him as a demoni- can skyterrier. Throwing dust in his buttinghole of Shemuel Tulliver, me grandsourd, the old “proletarians” are becoming lothed to me. Who’ll search for love of gold! My veil